The Diagon Alley Gentlemen's Club
by marauderX
Summary: In 1947, Diagon Alley is home to one of the most mystic and secretive gentlemen's club in all of England. The Diagon Alley Gentlemen's Club prides itself on their elusive and respected members, but when a private investigator by the name of Marcus Williams begins poking around, these members must do all they can to keep the Club's head above water.
1. Prologue

Marcus Williams, private investigator, was sitting in his office and eating his daily tuna sandwich when a very frantic man by the name of Exebur Greengrass burst in, followed by Marcus's blubbering assistant Lawrence Gum.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lawrence blathered, her brow furrowing as she took in the sight of the harried Mr. Greengrass. "I tried to stop him, I did, but he wouldn't listen."

Knowing full well that the only male clients he received that would risk getting off on a bad foot with his pretty assistant were either married or in desperate need of his help, and that the latter usually paid exorbitantly well, Marcus Williams just smiled. "That's quite all right, Lawrence," he mused, placing his tuna on rye back on its wrapper and standing up. He put out his right hand for the newcomer to shake. "Marcus Williams, private investigator. What can I do for you, mister…"

"Greengrass," the man said, quickly shaking Marcus's hand and then taking a seat in one of the two plush red chairs on the other side of Marcus's desk. "Exebur Greengrass. I'm here for your help."

Marcus smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Well Mr. Greengrass, help is what we provide here. What do you need assistance with?" Then, turning to his assistant, "Lawrence, close the door on your way out."

His assistant nodded sharply and hurried out of the room, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor. The door closed quietly behind her as Marcus smiled at his new client.

"It's my father," Mr. Greengrass smiled sadly. "They've told me it was a heart attack, but my family doesn't have any history of heart problems."

Marcus Williams frowned and started tapping his right index finger on his thigh. "I'm sorry Mr. Greengrass, but that doesn't incline me to take your case."

Exebur Greengrass nodded and pulled out a large envelope from his jacket pocket. "Inside you'll find the money for the case. It's a fairly large sum because I need this to be of top priority."

Marcus sat up in his chair and grinned. If there was one thing this private investigator would agree to a case for, no matter the circumstances, it was a large wad of cash. Mr. Greengrass held out the envelope and Marcus grabbed it, flipping up the top and staring at the shiny golden galleons inside. He jiggled the envelope and, satisfied that the amount would cover the case, he turned to his new client.

"Well, I'll need to look into your father's case and it may take a few days to come up with information that might lead us to solving your father's suspected death," Marcus said, opening his desk drawer and placing the envelope in it. "If you like, my assistant can take down information about –"

"That won't be necessary," Mr. Greengrass interrupted. "In fact, I even have the murder weapon here with me now."

Marcus Williams stood up quickly. It was one thing for a client to have a suspicion of who committed a crime, or even what may have been used as a murder weapon, but he was very much uncomfortable with the idea of a deadly weapon in his office. As Mr. Greengrass began to pull something out of his jacket pocket, Marcus's hand was on his wand that was hidden up his right sleeve. But what happened next surprised him. Exebur Greengrass placed a small vial on the private investigator's desk. It had a small insignia of a butterfly on it and the green liquid inside shimmered.

Marcus Williams breathed in sharply and took a step back from the incriminating vial. "Butterfly's Death," he whispered, staring at the poison that had started and subsequently almost ruined his career.

He strode out from behind his desk and left his office, his strides hurried as he made his way over to his assistant's desk.

"Lawrence," he said shakily, "cancel any other appointments I have for this week. They're back."

* * *

 **A.N.: Hope you like this little prologue to my new little mystery! Feedback is very much appreciated! :)**


	2. Hell Hath No Fury

Auden Matthews was a woman scorned with a fury the likes of hell hath no. Having been passed up for a job at the _Daily Prophet_ in favour of a boy six years her junior that had just graduated from Hogwarts with no honours and the intelligence of a toad, she had retired to the lounge and picked up a glass of whiskey on the rocks. The rich liquor slid down her throat marvellously as she glared ahead at the ornate fireplace – one of many in the lounge.

The dark oak wall behind it melded perfectly into the darkened bricks that surrounded the wood-filled, ash-covered pit that had not been lit due to the heat of the summer, a sin according to Auden considering she had been brought up to know that any good lounge should always have lit fireplaces and whiskey at hand. Although the Club only had one of those stipulations, she enjoyed the refuge from the outside world, especially her mother's _encouraging_ lectures on landing herself a good and respectable man by the age she had reached. Most of her other friends had already married and had babies but Auden was a disappointment to her mother having never even been on a date.

"My poor daughter," she could almost hear her mother say. "The boys don't like girls with a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit. Play with your hair, Auden. Put on a little lipstick."

Of course, Auden had done everything possible to avoid becoming a cloned copy of her mother, so far as to apply for a job at the _Daily Prophet_ in a department other than the advice columns. _And that turned out so well_ , she thought harshly, downing the rest of her nursed whiskey. She stood up and made to get herself another when Tyler Venten walked up to her.

"Auden, there's a man at the front asking for you," Tyler said, her blonde eyebrows furrowing. "He mentioned your last assignment. Should I bring Chris up as well?"

Auden sighed and placed her empty whiskey tumbler on a nearby cart. "Thank you Tyler. And yes, I think Chris should be informed of this."

Auden left the lounge, silently cursing the tight skirt she had worn specifically to impress the interviewer at the _Prophet._ Usually she would not have bothered working so hard to piss off her mother, but Chris had needed a girl on the inside to scope out the _Prophet_ 's stories and sources. As she walked up to the front desk, flashing a smile every few steps as other members of the Club passed by, she studied the back of the man who was leaning against the front desk. Tall and sturdy, the man had short hair and a nice enough jacket that seemed a little worse for wear. If there was anything that Auden could do better than disappointing her mother by not having a boyfriend was disappointing her mother by flirting with men for no reason than for fun and personal gain. It was one of the many reasons Chris had allowed her membership into the Club. As she reached the man, she placed a hand on his bicep and as he turned she smiled dazzlingly.

"Hello," the man said, apparently not fazed by Auden's precursor to flirting, "I'm looking for an Auden Matthews. Ms. Venten said that she would find him for me."

Auden's smile fell and she took a step back from the man. "Yes, of course. May I ask who is asking for Auden?"

"Marcus Williams. I'm here to talk to Mr. Matthews about an appointment they had last week with a Mr. Arturo Greengrass."

"Well, if you're looking for a Mr. Matthews," Auden sighed, "you'll have to go somewhere else." She put out her hand and smiled warily. "I'm Auden Matthews."

If Marcus Williams was taken aback, he did not show it. Instead he grabbed Auden's hand and shook it professionally. "I'm very sorry…"

"It's Ms. Matthews. If this is concerning an appointment with a Mr. Greengrass, then unfortunately, then unfortunately you are in the wrong place."

Auden and Mr. Williams turned to see a tall brunette walking down the long hallway that led to the many lounges and meeting rooms, her pantsuit pressed and light grey, matching her sharp and unforgiving eyes.

"Chris Fairview," the brunette introduced herself, making no move to shake Mr. Williams hand as he put it forth. "As you know, Mr. Williams, our clients expect confidentiality, but even so, Mr. Greengrass canceled his appointment the week beforehand. We have the paperwork to prove it and I can have my assistant send it to your office." Chris smiled and gestured towards the door. "Now, if you don't mind, our Club offers membership to, ah, select members with promise, integrity, and value. As you do not satisfy any of those requirements, I must ask you to leave."

Mr. Williams nodded and smiled at the women. "Of course. I'll need that paperwork though."

With that Mr. Williams left, with one final smile at Auden and a tip of the hat at Chris. Auden frowned as the tall brunette clucked her tongue.

"Auden, you've been messy," Chris chastised. "Clean this up or the Club will have to expel you."

Auden nodded and ran a hand through her hair. Yes, Auden Matthews was a woman scorned with a fury the likes of hell hath no. Fortunately for her, her boss was not.


	3. Greed and Luxury

Chris Fairview was a creature of greed and luxury. With long legs, a long torso, long features, and long dark brown hair, Chris despised the conception that women should be shorter than their partner. She enjoyed the lavish dresses her mother sent to her from Spain, long and silky, only accentuating her height, and the gorgeous high heels that always accompanied them. Her mother, one Cassiopeia Tennant, was a socialite and had more divorces in her pocket than one should care to admit, but men were just a conquest to Cassiopeia, something she had taught her daughter at a very young age.

" _Let them love you_ ," her mother would say. " _Let them fall head over heels for you. But never, Chris, never let yourself fall for them._ "

However, Chris had seen the side of her mother's 'conquests' that no one else did. Bruises and split lips led to exorbitant divorce settlements, much to her mother's fortune, but Chris could not get past the horrors of a loveless marriage. She had spent her life striving to help women from those situations and others equally as preoccupying, but of course, a debt would have to be paid. She adored her girls, every single one of them, but membership did not come cheap. In order for her to keep the Club running, she needed funds. And where is the money but in the business of scandals, lies, cheating, and blackmail?

She was in her office, the panic of yesterday's discovery having caused her to hermit, delve into paperwork until no scrap of paper involving her girls in anything would be given to the unwelcome private investigator that had invited himself in the day before. It would not just be detrimental to the years spent training and cultivating Auden's abilities if this Mr. Williams began to dig into her Club, it would be detrimental to their mission, something she was all too fond of unfortunately. A loud tap at her door drew her gaze from the papers covered in scribbles and stamped kiss marks, individual signatures that were too impersonal to ever be actual evidence. _Speaking of our mission_ , she thought warily as her assistant, Tyler Venten, poked her head in.

"Ms. Greengrass to see you, Chris."

Chris nodded, her silky hair falling over her shoulders easily. "Send her in."

The door closed an inkling of a second before it was thrown open by a weeping young girl. Her tear stained shirt was an ugly mustard yellow and her skirt was awfully tailored and a shade of brown that Chris had never seen used for clothes, but it was her face that stood out to Chris. The blue and purple bruising that surrounded her left eye, leaving it swollen and shut, the stains on the otherwise porcelain face running down the side of her face down into the neckline of the god awful shirt. Chris stood, plastering what she had mastered to be a warm smile and extended a hand.

"Ms. Greengrass, I'm very glad to see you." The other woman took her hand shakily but her grip was tight. "I understand that you were not given details about the procedures needed in order to go about relieving you of your, ah, _domestic situation_ , if we should so call it that, but it was necessary in order to keep you safe ad out of suspicion's eyes."

The weeping woman shook her head as she grabbed a tissue from the flowery box on Chris's desk. "It's not that," she blew into the tissue and it took all of Chris's strength not to grimace as the used thing made its way to her desk instead of the waste bin, "it's my brother. He's suspecting something awry. I'm so sorry, Ms. Fairview. I didn't mean–"

Chris silenced her with one small shake of the head and a practiced laugh. "It's Chris. And that's quite alright, I'm already aware of the situation at hand." She walked to the window of her office, graceful and poised as she had practiced to be, and stared out at the street below, bustling with those who had no idea the type of business she ran. "Mr. Williams has been a problem before but I have operatives in the field who have been dispatched to deal with his sort specifically. Now," she turned back to the weeping woman and smiled, "I'll have Tyler bring you to your room, you'll be staying with us until we need to place you somewhere more permanent. You will have everything provided for you, but if something is needed feel free to ask."

The weeping woman nodded and shakily stood up. "Thank you, Ms. Fa- Chris. I owe you my life."

"No," Chris corrected, taking the few steps bake to her desk and picking up a large manila envelope, "you owe me this life."

The newly christened Darren Welkley took the envelope cautiously, almost as if she expected it to bite. Chris smiled and waved her out of the office, nodding at Tyler who came to comfort the girl and bring her to her room. As she made to walk back around her desk and sit down, she heard a tap at her window and turned to see an impeccably white owl holding a parcel. She hurried over and unlatched the window, tearing at the parcel go find a dark purple gossamer gown and matching shoes, along with an invitation to her mother's newest upcoming nuptials. Yes, Chris Fairview was a creature of greed and luxury. Fortunately, both were suited to her purposes.


End file.
